The Travels of Terminius
by The Fictioner
Summary: Set in TES: IV. This tale follows the adventures of Terminius, my character, after he escapes the Imperial Prison and re-builds his life on the sea. A/N: My first TES story, R&R, enjoy!
1. One: Arrival

**A/N: So hey, Elder Scrolls fans! This is my first story set in the Elder Scrolls universe, and it follows the adventures of my character Teminius. The first few chapters will fit in with the game nicely and as the story develops the strict in-game limits will sort of.. fade away to the might of my imagination. Enjoy and leave a review!**

The Travels of Terminius

An Elder Scrolls Fan-Fiction Story.

There never was a breath taken that felt so good.

The stale, stagnant stench of the Imperial City dungeons had invaded his lungs for too long, and now the pure chilled air of the outside world washed around inside him and cleansed the musky, cloy feeling from his body.

Terminius Hex was free. In such a small time his life had changed forever. Over the last few hours he had encountered the legendary Blades guards, been freed from his cell through a secret passageway that had been there all along and had been given the sacred Amulet of Kings by the Emperor himself. For now though, getting out there and making something of himself was his priority. Fate, it seemed, had played its part by putting him in the cell with the secret passage, and he was grateful for it, but no hero of old had ever been seen dressed in prison rags, and he didn't intend on being the first.

As he shut the sewer grate behind him, Terminius looked about. It had been seven years since he had last set eyes on Cyrodiil, and it was still as beautiful to him as it always had been. The pale gold sunlight dappled through the oak tree he stood under, and Lake Rumare sparkled at him with its blue-green beauty.

"It's good to be out," he whispered to himself, smiling at the picturesque scene in front of him.

He walked over to the bank of the lake, squatted down and gently disturbed the surface of the water with his hand. He was curious to find out what he looked like now, for after seven years imprisonment and with only stone, metal and itchy wool for company he had not been near a reflective surface for some time. So it was with some degree of hesitation that the tall Imperial gazed at his wavering reflection, and he wore an expression of considerable surprise when he saw how his face had changed.

The daily meals of a stale bread loaf, a hunk of charred meat and a mug of bitter mead had aged him. Sharp worry lines creased his forehead and what had once been laugh lines now made his face seem world-weary and depressed. Thick stubble covered his square jaw and his eyes carried dark shadows that spoke volumes of his time in the prison. His dark brown hair was gritty with dirt and faded with dust and stress, and he ran a hand through it. It was long now, almost down to his shoulders, falling in his eyes and annoying him with itches. With a grunt, he tore of a strip of sack cloth from his prison shirt and used it to tie his hair back in a roguish knot.

He looked to his left and spotted something he had not noticed before. A small wooden jetty protruded from the sand and the grass, its wooden boards slightly rotten and the occasional broken plank pointing skywards. A frayed length of rope was tied twice around one of the mooring poles, and Terminius' groggy eyes followed the snaking line down to a lonely little rowing boat floating forlornly in the reeds. Lifting himself from his low crouch, he walked over to the dinghy and inspected it for damage. To his satisfaction there were no holes in the wood, so far as he could see, and whoever had used it previously had left a pair of oars across the seats. He looked out over the Rumare, thinking about what to do next.

_If I row right across to those old ruins on that bank there, I'm sure to find a camp of some sort, and shelter. _As if on cue, the clouds suddenly rumbled, and the sky began to change to a dark overcast haze. _However, I'll bet there's a bunch of blasted bandits hiding there, and it's been quite a while since I last picked up a blade._

Deciding, then, that the best option was to row around to the Imperial City Waterfront (roughly two to three hours journey, he estimated), he freed the boat from it's mooring, pushed it out a few feet into the lake, climbed in and began the next chapter of his life.

* * *

><p>The sky clattered like the charge of ancient warhorses, bringing down with it a maelstrom of rain and wind that drummed and howled outside the mouth of the cave Terminius now sat in. Though the thick rock walls prevented the wetter of the outside elements from penetrating his shelter, the biting cold brought on by the storm winds caused him no end of discomfort. He'd dragged the boat halfway inside, due to there being nothing to moor it too. Unfortunately, this resulted in him being somewhat cramped at the back of the cave, and his legs were starting to get sore from being folded up in such a tight position.<p>

_I should have just rowed across to those ruins, there's plenty of shelter there. Maybe even a camp, with tents, bedrolls and a fire. _He thought, crossing his arms over his chest and rubbing his shoulders, trying to get some semblance of warmth back into his body. _Even having to try my luck against bandits is better than being stuck here in this tiny cave, with this awful wind._

After a while he began to tire (not in the least because he was still weak from his prison escape) and drifted off to sleep.

It was little more than an hour later when the storm stopped, and the fresh sunlight tickled Terminius into waking from his nap. Groaning with the pain of his aching limbs, he scrambled over the dinghy and outside. He stretched luxuriously following his confinement in the cave, working the blood back into his muscles before dragging the boat back out into the shallows and resuming his journey.

Before his stop he had been rowing for a good hour and a half, so it was not long before the great stone walls of the Imperial City, perched on the cliffs over the lake bank, gave way to the bustling noise of the Waterfront. Instantly his eyes lit up, and the seven-year-haze of his prison sentence gave way to a flood of memories… _enlisting in the Legion Navy… years of poor wages, intense boredom and loneliness… the day the pirate ship sailed up, promising a life of adventure and riches… leading a mutiny against the Captain when after six months of hard graft and not a ruby in sight they grew frustrated and marooned him on Summerset Isle_.

Yes, it was all coming back to him now. He could barely believe he'd simply forgotten his life before the prison but then, hadn't the food always tasted a bit strange? Setting his oars down in the boat, he let the port's gentle current pull his boat in, and thought some more.

What else was there to remember? He could feel something pulling at him, nagging in the back of his brain… Oh! He remembered now. After the mutiny he'd fashioned a fleet, sailing up and down the Abecean sea, looting and plundering – Captain Terminius, he'd been! And, on that fateful overcast Anvil day, when he'd sailed his ship into the harbour only to be ambushed by the guard. Many of his brave friends and comrades had died that day, thanks to his ego. Then came the trial, and finally the prison sentence. Only Gods knew how many more years he'd have ended up spending in the prison had Fate not tipped the balance of the scales and set him free.

_S'all gone now._ Terminius thought to himself, as he floated between a large vessel and the lighthouse. Picking up one of the oars, he directed the boat towards a small jetty, grabbing hold of the wooden planks and securing the length of rope around the mooring pole. With a heave and a ho of his undernourished bones he climbed out of his small craft and onto the platform. Striking up a semi-merry whistle (he didn't quite remember what merry was after seven years of abuse from that horrid Dunmer across from his cell), he strolled along the lighthouse pier and onto the Waterfront strip. As he knew all to well from his previous long stays at sea, a lot could change on land in the space of a few winters, so he was eager to find out what had happened in the Imperial City, and indeed, Cyrodiil itself while he had been locked up.

First, however, he needed to do away with the prison rags he was dressed in. If a guard came patrolling down here, he'd be questioned thoroughly as to why he was wearing such… notorious attire.

_The last time I was here, there was a cheap-sale with the left over shipments. _Terminius looked around, reaching into his pocket for the meagre amount of Septims he'd discovered in his escape from the city sewers. Sure enough, a mean-looking woman was sitting on a stool in the middle of a collection of crates, a crudely drawn sign nailed to the tallest. Taking the coins into the palm of his hand, he walked over to the woman. It had been a little while since he'd last spoken, so he cleared his throat first.

"Afternoon!" he began, trying for a smile.

"What d'ya want fr'm me?" she snarled, visibly disgusted at Terminius' display of emotion. He instantly dropped the smile and sighed.

"Shirt, pants and shoes, if you would." the woman raised one eyebrow, daring him to confirm that she had to move from her position. He simply nodded.

"Six Septims." Terminius handed her the money and she leaned down to snatch a burlap shirt, a pair of coarse linens and a pair of stitched leather shoes.

"Thank you," he said, taking the clothes and walking around the high wall of the Waterfront to some blackberry bushes. He quickly looked left and right to make sure nobody was coming, and then stripped the dirty old clothes off, shivering momentarily as the breeze tickled his body. To preserve his own modesty (and prevent being caught by a guard) it was with utmost haste that he ducked behind the bushes and dressed in his recently purchased attire, soon emerging from behind the wall and back onto the strip, passing the old woman with a glare.

Terminius decided that to re-acquaint himself with the Waterfront the best idea was to enjoy a hearty night at the local ship-turned-inn, The Bloated Float. He had always held it in high regard, with its jolly atmosphere (partly brought on by the rocking of the boat during a dance), fine wines and comfortable beds. It was also a hang-out for pirates, smugglers and less-honourable sailors on the Waterfront and he was sure to hear some rumours about a ship for sale or an extra swabbie required on a goods run of some kind.

_It's best that I get back onto a ship as soon as I can. _He thought, remembering his time on the pirate ship before he led the mutiny. _Work always needs doing these days, and the Divines seem to be on my side at the moment. Maybe history will repeat itself. _

With that in mind, he quickly made his way to the hulking ship. Though this was hardly the first time he'd seen it, he still allowed his mind to marvel a little at the ingenuity of merging an inn with a vessel, let alone making it look appealing. _Why, it's a wonder it even stays afloat!_

Upon opening the door, his senses were immediately assaulted with a bombardment of sights, sounds and smells. He could barely hear himself think over the roar of conversation. The air was hazy with pipe-smoke, and lingering on the edge of the wave of sweat was the faintest of smells of skooma. A knowing smile crept across Terminius' face as he searched the "deck" for the source – ah! There he was, hidden away in the corner, the pink little bottles glinting in the torch-light giving his position away. Angus the Pink.

Ducking under two Orc-folk exchanging punches and squeezing between several rather lusty Argonian maids, he finally managed to sit down on the uneven wooden stool opposite Angus. The look on the addict's face was almost worth spending all that time in prison for.. _almost_.

"Terminius! By the Nine, is it really you?" Angus' face was a confusing mix of elation, disbelief and beneath it all, a nervous fear.

"Aye, it is." Terminius nodded at the skooma bottles his old acquaintance was now slyly trying to conceal with the rum jug. "Still up to your old tricks then, eh?"

"I can't hide much from you, as always!"

"It'll be the death of you, you know that, Angus. Skooma's only good for three things; trade, bribery and… oh, I've forgotten the other one."

"I think it was just those two, Terminius." the troubled seafarer said.

"P'raps it were. Anway, pack it in. I can't have you on me crew and be off your head all the time."

This sent Angus into a fit of chuckles and guffaws.

"What's so bloody funny?" grumbled Terminius. Angus finally stopped laughing and wiped a solitary tear of mirth from his eye.

"Crew? What crew?" he poured a glass of rum from the jug for himself, and leaned over to grab a mug for Terminius from the adjacent empty table. "By some bloody miracle, you got out of that prison cell. Now, y'see, that's just not _legal._ So you're a wanted man. What makes you think anyone here's gonna want to sail with you?" By the end of his sentence Angus' expression had become rather snide as the drink took a hold of his brain.

"I'm not a wanted man. Now," Terminius said, putting down his drink and setting his friend's down as well, much to Angus' annoyance. "Shut up and listen. I've got a bloody good story to tell you about all that, and I swear on my ship's wreck, it's as true as the sea is salty."

Having commanded the utmost attention of Angus, he recounted his tale from the prison break-out with the Emperor and his Blades, to the sewer escape and the stormy row around the Lake Rumare. By the time he finished and took another sip of his drink, Angus' eyes were wide like saucers in amazement.

"That all happened to you?" the addict shook his head. "I don't believe it."

At this Terminius decided it was high time he stopped trying to play up to Angus and re-assert his authority on his once-upon-a-time first mate. He reached across the table, grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him roughly towards him. Terminus' grip was strong, and Angus could do nothing but stare back at his old Captain. Recognising that he was wrong, he sighed, relenting, and Terminius released him.

"Fine. I believe you. So," he said, taking a gulp of his drink. "You wan'ta form a new crew?"

Terminius shook his head, much to Angus' surprise. "No, that's near impossible given the situation I'm in."

"What then?"

"I'm gonna go back to basics, like I first did."

"You don't mean the _Legion Navy_?" his friend said incredulously.

Terminius scoffed. "Are you mad? No, you half-wit. I meant joining a pirate crew. Even if it is only as a deckhand, for the time being. Just being on wood in the sea is enough for me."

"Right. You're as good a thinker as ever, I see. Well, I'll tell you something now. I've been on this here ship for near-enough every night for the past three years, and only spoken to _one_ pirate." Angus sighed wearily. "The Empire's cracking down on people like us, Terminius. But I'll tell you what I'll do – I'll put word out on the circuit, let people know someone's askin'. Shan't be long until something turns up."

Terminius nodded and, his drink finished and with the conversation near enough concluded, stood up. "It's been grand to see you again, Angus. Say, I don't suppose you could lend me six Septims? Only I haven't enough for a bed tonight."

Angus grinned.


	2. Two: Brigands

**A/N: Thank you for your reviews! I'm currently coming up to the end of my exam season, so finding time for Terminius' story is a difficulty, but with a whole lot of ginger beer I've managed to stay up rather late most nights to write. Here's Chapter Two!**

Terminius tossed and turned in the bed he'd rented for the night. In his dreams he re-visited the prison escape, and the Emperor's death. A strange sensation flooded his sleeping mind – an odd rocking.

He woke with a start – it was the boat! _That can't be good,_ he frowned. _I'm sure a floater this heavy ain't seaworthy._ Steadying himself, he stood up, quietly pleased to see that he still had his old sea-legs. As he listened quietly to the sound of the boat's movement, a foreign sound alerted him – footsteps, right outside his door! And then – the sharp grating sound of a blade being drawn!

Terminius knew well and good that even his punches were inferior to anything more than a bread knife, and decided that the best plan would be to pretend he were still asleep and, should his room be invaded by the mysterious swordsman outside, surprise him in the smaller confines of the cabin where all but a dagger would be too big to use effectively.

It was mere seconds after squeezing shut his eyes that the rickety wooden door opened with a creak and he felt the chill steel of a blade over his neck. Now was the time to act. With a roar, he brought his arm up hard, hitting his attacker's sword arm up and away from his neck, freeing him to twist and grab the thick wrist of the Nord male who now stood before him, clad in leather armour. Terminius grunted as he and the man grappled in the small room, fighting for dominance over the weapon. He received a nasty punch in the jaw, but managed to turn the attacker round and pin him to the bed, snatching the short sword from his grasp.

Now he was in control, as the sword lightly grazing the Nord's neck made obvious. The man's eyes were wide with fear.

"Who're you and what do you want with me?" Terminius growled, keeping the blade level.

"I-I can't tell you, she'll kill me. You weren't supposed to be here, I swear!" Unsatisfied with this answer, he put the slightest bit of pressure on the sword, just enough to draw a bead of blood from the Nord's neck.

"Listen, scum. You'd better spill, now; else I'll _spill your blood_ all over the deck!" The man's eyes were crazed now, and sweat ran profusely down his face. After a moment of staring pleadingly at Terminius, he finally nodded.

"Fine, I'll tell you! I'm Lynch, a member of the Blackwater Brigands. We weren't here to kill you – you were never supposed to be here, like I said!" The man took a breath and then continued. "We're looking for a statue; _The Golden Galleon._ When Selene – our leader – captured the innkeeper and he told us you were on board, she sent me down here to keep you quiet."

Terminius was silent for a minute, processing all this. Finally, he lifted the blade from Lynch's neck. He sighed audibly, and held a hand to the tiny cut on his throat.

"W-what are you going to do with me?"

"I'll consider that later. First, take all that armour off." The Nord hesitated.

"Now!" he growled. He was going to need the extra protection to get past any other members of the Brigands, to find Selene. Then he'd offer her his proposition. _This could be my chance to get back into piracy, _he thought.

Soon Terminius was clad in Lynch's armour, and; locking the door behind him with a key given to him by Ormil upon his renting of the room, proceeded cautiously down the corridor and up onto the tavern deck. Again, he was met with the sound of footsteps, and he retreated into the shadows, crouching so that he could just about see over the lip of the steps.

A female Dunmer, red hair contrasting heavily with the blue-green tint of her skin, sat on the edge of the long table that looped around the ship's main-mast sharpening her steel blade. She was clad in the same armour as Lynch, and now Terminius – tight leather armour branded with the imprint of a galleon in full sail. When Terminius had looked at the cuirass he now wore his eyes had lit up at the outline of the ship and the memories it has stirred within him. Now, though, he was fully focussed.

He shifted to the left to get a better view of the enemy, but as he did so his boot squealed sharply on the wet wooden boards of the deck, alerting the dark elf to his presence.

"Who's there?" she cried, in her noble voice.

Terminius froze, and said nothing. The woman stood up and made her way warily over to the source of the sound. He tensed, flattening his body against the wall, and stealthily drew his sword from it's sheath, muffling it's sound with his hand. He knew he was going to have to fight.

Sure enough, the Brigand turned the corner, sword poised. Terminius sprang forward, slicing his blade through the air in front of her. She was quick on her feet, and unfazed by his aggressiveness, parrying his strike. He released his blade, stepped left, then flicked it below her elbow. Once again she parried, blocking his attack with her own. Then she twirled, making a swipe at his neck as she did so. Now it was Terminius' turn to be on the defensive, and he got his sword up just in time for the steel to clash. The strength of his block had surprised her, however, and she stumbled back slightly. He saw his chance, bashed aside her blade and then pointed the tip of his own at her heart.

"Drop it," he commanded. She let the blade fall from her hand and onto the deck.

"You're no Brigand!" she snarled. "What are you doing wearing our uniform? And where's Lynch?"

"Lynch failed in his attempt to kill me," Terminius moved the tip of the sword from her heart to her un-armoured throat. "And the 'uniform' is obvious – to protect me from the likes of you. Where's Selene?"

"Did you kill him?"

"No. Where's Selene?" he repeated.

"Why? You can't best her, you know."

"I don't want to fight her – though believe me I _would_ best her – I want to offer her my… services."

"You want to join the crew?" the Dunmer raised an eyebrow at this.

"The Brigands seem to be one of few crews to have escaped the might of the Legion."

"That's because we're new – three weeks, to be exact. But Selene did say we should look for new recruits…" she scrutinised him for a second. "You'll more than do."

"Would you take me to her?"

"If you get that damn sword away from my throat, yes." Terminius sheathed the blade. He caught the woman's hand as she bent down to retrieve her weapon.

"Leave that here." She raised an eyebrow again, but nodded. He released her from his grip, and she walked purposefully towards the thick wooden door behind the bar – the door to the innkeeper's cabin. Clearing her throat, she knocked three times. After a lengthy pause, the door opened a crack.

"What?" snapped the voice of a young Imperial woman. _Selene,_ thought Terminius.

"There's been a complication in the mission." He noted with satisfaction at how the Dunmer faltered at "complication".

"Complication, eh? How so?"

"The customer who you sent Lynch down to silence. I'm afraid he defeated Lynch and, also… me."

"Then why are you not dead?" The voice paused for a moment. "Is Lynch dead?"

"No, he didn't. And he, uh, he wants to join the gang." She cleared her throat again and continued. "I recommend him for recruitment."

There was a lot of hissed whispering behind the door, and at last it opened fully and Terminius met Selene proper.

* * *

><p>She was a youthful Imperial woman, clad in the same armour as Terminius himself and the other Brigands. Her dark hair was cut appropriately sharply for the hard stare she gave him.<p>

"Who are you, then, and what makes you think you can join our little outfit so easily?" she set her hands on her hips, and Terminius noticed the telling decorative hilt of a longsword protruding from a sheath at her side.

He had thought his response over while the Dunmer had spoken to Selene through the door. Despite his imprisonment, Terminius had no doubt that in the pirating world his name was still well known. It would be wise to play things safe for now and use a false name.

"Angus the Pink," he said, chuckling internally. "I used to sail with the Legion Navy. It's poor pay, poor jobs and barely any action. I want in with you pirates. I don't mind nor care if it's as a swabbie, boatswain, rigger, whatever. Just give me a bed, some gold and plenty of ale, and I'm all yours."

Selene considered this a moment. "A fine proposition, Angus. But I'm afraid I can't accept you into the Brigands. There's clearly a misconception here. We're not pirates, we're just a gang of thieves. There was never any plan to take the _Float_ for ourselves – we want _The Golden Galleon_."

Terminius was greatly disappointed. His sudden hopes of getting back aboard a pirating vessel had gone out like so much a candle. If what he had been told earlier on were true, the likelihood of pirates dropping anchor in the Waterfront district was minimal. Anvil.. maybe, but it would take many weeks and an awful lot of planning to even set foot in the harbour town. _Looks like I'm run ashore for now_, he thought sombrely.

"I see," he muttered.

Selene's face broke out in a wry smile. "You are, however, in luck. I trust you noticed the vessel anchored on the other side of the docks?"

"Why, yes." said Terminius, his spirits suddenly picking up as Selene put the wind back in his sails. "It looked like a merchant galleon to me, and a fine one at that!"

"That's where you're wrong. It just put in at port not a week ago. _The Marie Elena_, she's called – and she's a pirate ship. You should go down and ask to speak with their captain. You've clearly demonstrated yourself to me as an able-bodied-sailor."

Terminius was practically dancing with glee at his sudden fortune. "Do you know if they have positions open?"

"I can't say for sure, but I overheard one of the dockworkers the other day talking about how the ship had dropped anchor for shore leave, repairs and supplies. They may be taking on new crew alongside that, I don't know."

It was the best news he'd heard in years (save the late Captain Renault's talk of a secret passageway in his cell). "Thank you kindly, Selene."

"I trust that, as a fellow on our side of the law, you won't be telling the Watch of our… activities?" her fingers tapped the pommel of her sword almost threateningly.

"You have my word."

"Then by all means, go back to your bed, and tell that pansy Lynch to get up here for me," she looked him up and down. "You'd best give that amour back to him, too."

Terminius nodded. "I shall." For a second he was struck with guilt at leaving the proprietors of _The Bloated Float_ to the Brigands, but then remembered what Selene had said – they weren't taking the ship, they just wanted their treasure.

"Then goodnight, pirate. We'll have you back on the Waterfront by noon." At this, Selene re-entered the cabin, motioning for the Dunmer to follow.

Alone on the deck, and now suddenly weary (he realised, with some surprise, that it was in fact incredibly early in the morning), Terminius grabbed a bottle of mead from a nearby table and gulped it down before walking the short way back to his room.

He had just turned the key in the lock when the wooden door suddenly flew open, hitting him hard in the side of his face. With a cry, he stumbled back, drawing his sword in the process. The Brigand Lynch leapt at Terminius, arms raised. Not wanting to lose his uneasy alliance with Selene, he dropped the weapon and grabbed a hold of the man by the shoulders, slamming him against the wide open door.

Lynch took one look at the fury in Terminius' eyes before his shoulders sagged and he dropped his gaze.

"Nice try, Lynch, but not worth it." He released him from his grasp. "Selene wants you up on deck. I'm staying on board until the ship returns to the Waterfront."

"You didn't kill Selene?" There was the slightest hint of disappointment in the Nord's voice.

"No, nor the Dunmer. I thought you Brigands were pirates, but it seems I was mistaken. Selene and I talked, and she told me of the recent arrival of a crew at the Waterfront."

"I see. Can I… have my armour back now?"

Terminius looked down at his armour clad form, and then at Lynch's modestly clothed body.

"Oh, yes, of course." he quickly took off the leather, brushing down his cheap clothes. Lynch took them and strode off down the corridor without another word.

* * *

><p>At last left to his bed, Terminius locked the door behind him, and then – just to be sure – jammed the back of the room's rickety wooden chair under the handle. His small adventure had left him high on adrenaline, but now, in the moodily lit confines of his cabin, he began to tine rapidly. No sooner had he taken off his shirt and his head hit the pillow did he fall asleep.<p>

In his dreams the world swayed with the motion of the boat he slept in, and the skeletal emblem of his old ship's flag fluttered in the breeze that drafted in through miniscule gaps in the _Float_'s hull.

Terminius smiled in his sleep.


End file.
